


One Man’s Trash

by TAFKAmayle



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Violence, Broken Bones, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Pain, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prince Jaskier | Dandelion, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stabbing, Trauma, Warlord Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witchers and sorcery still exist but the world is totally different
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29934042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAmayle/pseuds/TAFKAmayle
Summary: Jaskier’s kingdom is conquered by the merciless warlord known as the White Wolf. The fearsome wolf decides to take Jaskier as a prize to marry him. Jaskier has been abused all his life and supposes going with the wolf will make very little difference.Note about rape/non-con: While no rape is explicitly described, there is an attempted rape and referenced/heavily implied rape and sexual abuse. This fic deals with the aftermath of sexual, physical, and emotional abuse and therefore can be quite triggering to some. Please be aware before choosing to read. ❤️
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 78
Kudos: 280





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier felt a sick swell of satisfaction as the white-haired warlord’s fist hit his father’s face with a nice crunching noise. His own arms were gripped and his wrists bound. Then the back of his knee was kicked and he dropped, watching the warlord hit his father again. He almost had to suppress a smirk.  _How does it feel, father?_

He supposed he should be scared that he could be next, but he’d lived in fear his whole life. Truthfully, it felt no different facing the so called barbarians than facing his father or brothers. At least the barbarians weren’t supposed to care about him. His father dropped as the warlord let go of him, his face dripping blood. Jaskier wanted to laugh.

The warlord had blood on him as well, splattered across his rough leather armor, but he didn’t look like  _he_ was bleeding as he looked over Jaskier’s brothers, eyes sweeping left to right. They were all bound and kneeling, other members of the warlord’s clan having subdued them the same as the one had Jaskier. They were arranged roughly largest to smallest, likely in an approximation of their ages. The line of succession was mostly correct, though two of Jaskier’s six brothers were swapped.

The warlord’s gaze ended on Jaskier, of course, at the end of the line. His eyes were golden orange and burned like a roaring fire. Jaskier had heard his eyes were unusual, but not that they were so beautiful. White Wolf was the man’s name or at least what he was called, but his eyes looked more like a cat’s.

Jaskier found himself unwilling to look away from them as the man walked toward him. He towered over Jaskier, his beautiful eyes smoldering as he stared hard down at him. Jaskier wasn’t sure what he wanted from him. 

“You, little one,” White Wolf spoke, voice deep and rough, “Tell me what is tradition for your people to take when they conquer another land, other than supplies and resources.”

“Oh, a native princess as a bride,” Jaskier answered, “If the king already has a wife, one of his heirs takes one.”

“And if they have no princesses?” White Wolf prompted.

“They will sometimes take the highest noble lady instead,” Jaskier replied, “Or there’s a gathering of maidens.”

“And if the king prefers lads?” White Wolf pressed.

_Then he pretends he doesn’t,_ Jaskier didn’t say while not looking at his father. White Wolf crouched in front of him and Jaskier processed his words, realization dawning on him. _Oh._

“This...in our kingdom would not be done,” Jaskier explained, “I don’t know how your, er, clan feels about such things, but here it is considered shameful. If a prince was taken as a prize, it would be secret.”

White Wolf took his chin, turning his face side-to-side. His golden eyes were alight with hunger. Jaskier knew what he was hungry for. It was not the first time someone had looked at him like that.

“You will find no complaint if you choose to take the youngest prince as a prize,” Jaskier’s eldest brother spoke up.

Jaskier wished he could be surprised. The warlord glanced down the line at him, hand dropping from Jaskier. Then he looked back to him.

“Is this true, little one?” He prompted, “Will you have no complaint if I take you?”

Jaskier’s chest squeezed. He got the feeling White Wolf wanted the truth and Jaskier hesitated to decide what that was. It would be the same, here in his father’s presence or with the wolf. It was the same practice. But the wolf was stronger and deadlier. He could hurt Jaskier far worse than his father ever had. However, his brothers wouldn’t be around either. Though maybe the other men of the clan would find reason to hurt him. Really, it seemed everything would be the same threat to him, just in a different setting.

But...as the wolf’s prize, he wouldn’t have to be a _prince._ He wouldn’t have to paint on a smile. He wouldn’t have to be in trouble for not being princely enough. He wouldn’t have to worry how he was looking to other kingdoms. The wolf and his clan were far scarier than his father, but at least Jaskier wouldn’t have to pretend.

“I will go with you willingly, my lord,” he murmured, bowing his head.

White Wolf’s fingers went under his chin, lifting his head back up. Jaskier gave him probably the weakest polite smile ever given, but the only one he could manage. White Wolf’s lips twitched and he stood.

“Take him,” he ordered the man who had tied Jaskier.

Jaskier got to his feet as the man gripped his arm to haul him up. Jaskier got a look at the man’s scarred face, blood orange cat-like eyes, and brown stubble before the man looped an arm around his middle and hoisted him up over one shoulder.

“I-I could’ve walked, sir,” Jaskier grunted.

“Quiet,” the man hissed.

While he carried him off, Jaskier wondered if he was related to White Wolf because of the the cat-like eyes, but beside them, he didn’t really look anything like the other man. Though Jaskier supposed he didn’t look that similar to his brothers either, last he checked. The man carried him to the kitchen and dropped him on a counter. 

“Stay,” he ordered.

Jaskier stayed, watching more of the clan raiding their food stores. The kitchen staff was herded into a corner, looking mostly fine though very afraid. Other than his father and of course the knights, the clan hadn’t actually done a lot of hurting any of them. Jaskier wondered if the supposed merciless clan was only merciless to soldiers and nobles much as his father was only merciless to commoners. The man returned and hoisted Jaskier up again.

“Really, I can walk,” Jaskier grumbled.

“Really, be quiet,” the man snapped back.

Jaskier sighed. There really was no reasoning with this man apparently.

“What in the world is that??” A more feminine voice demanded.

“Prize,” the man answered shortly.

“Hello!” Jaskier tried to greet the woman he couldn’t see.

“Doesn’t know how to close his mouth,” the man muttered.

“Are you serious?!” The woman snapped.

“Geralt said bring him,” the man explained.

_Geralt. White Wolf’s real name. How extraordinarily normal sounding._

“What?” The woman grunted, “Wh-Alright, whatever, put him in with the cloth and furs.”

Jaskier was carried past someone just as scary as the White Wolf. She had long black hair and violet eyes. The beautiful sorceress known as Black Fox scowled at him as he nervously tried to smile and wave at her. He didn’t want to be rude to someone who could turn him inside out. Jaskier was tossed none too gently into a wagon filled with cloth and furs, as directed.

It was one of his kingdom’s wagons. He lifted his head to look out the back. It looked like the clan was gathering up all the horses and some of the wagons. So they couldn’t be pursued very quickly when they were finished.  _Smart._

Jaskier dropped his head back, staring at the covered top of the wagon. He puffed out a shaky breath. He was a bit scared. He could admit it. But fear was like a well-worn pair of shoes at this point. There was little time when he was not afraid, so being afraid fit him perfectly.

Perhaps he could allow himself the small hope that the wolf wouldn’t fuck him to death. Or maybe he could hope that he would? It would end his misery and then it would only have to be once. Jaskier rolled onto his side.  _Who am I trying to fool? I could never be so lucky as to only suffer once._

It seemed like too much and not enough time later that he heard White Wolf’s voice.

“Where is he?” The man was asking, sounding a bit tired.

“Here,” the one who’d brought Jaskier grunted.

Jaskier looked out the back of the wagon again to see White Wolf outside it. His eyes drifted over Jaskier.

“Why didn’t you cut him loose?” He questioned as he climbed up into the wagon.

“You didn’t say to,” the man snorted.

Jaskier was more than a little wary of the wolf approaching him with a dagger, but held still to let himself be cut free. Though he did watch him very closely. The man had more blood on him than he had before. Jaskier pulled his arms around in front of him to rub his wrists. He managed not to flinch too horribly when the large, firm hand rubbed his aching shoulder.

“I apologize, I should have been specific,” White Wolf muttered, “You must be in pain.”

“I’m fine, my lord,” Jaskier mumbled.

It was nowhere near the worst he’d ever felt. It was hardly pain at all in that regard.

“Sit up,” White Wolf ordered.

Jaskier sat up and the man rubbed both of his shoulders. He grunted as the aching soothed at the man’s firm hands.  _What...is he doing?_ Lips pressed to Jaskier’s neck and he shuddered.  _Right._ He tilted his head to give the man room and he kissed up his neck, hands still rubbing into Jaskier’s sore muscles.

“Tell me your name, little one,” White Wolf murmured lowly.

“J-Julian, m-my lord,” Jaskier stammered.

“This is not what your brother called you,” White Wolf commented.

“Yes, I am usually called Jaskier,” Jaskier admitted, “But my true name is Julian.”

“What do you prefer?” The warlord prompted as his hands ran down Jaskier’s arms.

“J-Jaskier, my lord,” Jaskier answered.

“My name is Geralt,” White Wolf returned.

His fingers rubbed Jaskier’s sore wrists and Jaskier sighed at the gentle touches. He slipped into an oddly comfortable feeling as the man touched his wrists and kissed his neck. He thought he should be panicking, screaming maybe, but he was relaxing into White Wolf’s firm chest.

“Geralt, it’s time to move out!” Black Fox’ voice snapped Jaskier out of his daze.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” White Wolf called back to her.

Jaskier shifted to let him get up.

“Would you like to ride here?” White Wolf asked, “You can sleep. I’m sure you’re quite tired.”

“Yes, thank you, my lord,” Jaskier murmured, bowing his head.

White Wolf put his fingers under Jaskier’s chin, tilting his head back up. Jaskier smiled politely again and the man leaned forward, pressing his lips to Jaskier’s. Jaskier didn’t know what to do, so he just held still. White Wolf pulled away, lips twitching as he brushed his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. Then he pulled away and climbed out of the wagon. A little after he disappeared from Jaskier’s sight, a horn sounded from somewhere and the wagon began to move.

Jaskier laid back down on the other prizes the White Wolf had claimed from his kingdom. He thought he should feel sad, but he didn’t. Actually, it felt almost nice to be considered valuable enough to be a prize.  _Almost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to put in an author’s note. 😂 but, uh, welcome to this horror show? There is comfort and this will have a technically happy ending, but lots of pain first.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier woke up to the sound of a horn. The wagon halted, jostling him further awake. As he weakly pushed himself up, he noted his shaky arms and the chill under his skin. He wasn’t completely sure the last time he ate. Breakfast?

He pushed it from his mind, looking out the back of the wagon. He swayed as his eyes swept over the ink-black sky and the stars sparkling like diamonds. All around the wagon, members of the clan were bustling about, caring for the horses, carrying things around, and calling to each other. They were stopping to set up camp for the night, it seemed.

The man who appeared to be his warden stuck his head around the back of the wagon.

“Come on, runt,” he ordered, gesturing for Jaskier to get out.

Jaskier flinched at the name, instinctively ducking his head to dodge the blow to the back of it.  _Wait._ That wasn’t his father or any of his brothers.  _Right._ He wobbled as he shakily crawled his way from the wagon. He was unsteady and shivering as his warden took his arm and guided him through the crowd of the clan. Jaskier was too weak to insist he could walk on his own.

A bowl was put in his hands, he was shuffled forward, stew was put in the bowl, and then he was shuffled to a fire where he was guided onto a log. He swayed and looked around while he waited. They were in Indigo Forest, easily identified by the tall, twisted trees with the branches that reached for the sky like grabbing hands.

Jaskier stared deep into the darkness between the trees. The gnarled branches almost seemed to reach for him as well, beckoning him. He had tried many times when he was younger to escape into the forest, but he wouldn’t say he was familiar with it. He was fairly certain they were already deeper in than he’d ever made it before the knights caught him. He’d given up running when he was still too young to really make it that far. 

Someone sat on the log with him, startling him and pulling him from thoughts of past failures. He glanced over to see it was Black Fox with her own bowl of stew. She left enough room between them for someone else to sit, presumably White Wolf. She looked over at him, scowling.

“Why aren’t you eating?” She prompted, “Not good enough for you, prince?”

“Oh, n-no, it’s not that,” Jaskier quickly assured her, “I’m just waiting for...”

He trailed off, looking down at his bowl.  _Right._ Father wasn’t here to give him permission to eat, so he couldn’t be waiting for that.

“Gods, you don’t think you have to wait for Geralt, do you?” Black Fox snorted.

“Do I?” Jaskier asked uncertainly.

He really wasn’t sure how much carried over from his father to White Wolf. How much did he have to adjust?

“No, if you wait for him, you could wait all night,” Black Fox scoffed, “Eat, kid, before it gets cold.”

Jaskier still hesitated. Could he trust her? No, was the obvious answer, so more specifically could he trust her with  _this?_ Or would trusting her get him in more trouble?

“What’s your name?” She grunted.

“Jaskier, my lady,” he answered, trying to smile politely.

“Lady, wow,” she laughed, “That’s new. Call me Yennefer.”

“Pleased to meet you, Yennefer,” Jaskier murmured, bowing his head.

“Sure,” Yennefer grumbled, “Now you know my name, you can trust me, right? Eat your dinner.”

“Oh, r-right,” Jaskier stammered.

He still didn’t trust her. Really, what sort of rule was that? A name being all that was needed for trust? How absurd. But he didn’t want to further annoy someone who could turn him into a toad, so he lifted his bowl and drank the stew. It was thick, with big chunks of meat and vegetables in it. Not exactly drinking quality, but no one had given him a spoon. He was so hungry he greedily devoured it in one go.

“Got quite the appetite for someone so scrawny,” Yennefer commented.

Jaskier’s shoulders hunched defensively.  _I didn’t ask to be so small._

“Here, runt,” his warden spoke up, suddenly beside him again.

Jaskier flinched, but the man was just holding out a cup.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry, sir,” Jaskier murmured as he hesitantly took the cup.

The man was frowning at him and he quickly drank deeply from the cup, hoping not to anger him.

“Easy, pup, that’s gonna knock you on your ass,” the man grunted as he sat nearby.

Jaskier registered the vaguely sweet tasting liquid was some form of alcohol. He quickly pulled the cup from his lips.

“Oh, I-I’m not supposed...” he started.

He looked down at the cup.  _Right._ His father wasn’t there to get angry at him for drinking his alcohol stores. It wasn’t likely his father’s drink anyway, unless they’d brought that too. But then that would mean it belonged to White Wolf, just like Jaskier belonged to him now.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier jumped, flinching badly and nearly spilling his cup.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you,” White Wolf muttered as he sat beside him, “Are you alright?”

_Am I what?_

“Oh, y-yes, my lord,” Jaskier mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

White Wolf frowned at him.

“Why would you be sorry?” He grunted,  _“I_ startled  _you._ You’ve no reason to apologize.”

“Oh, um...r-right,” Jaskier murmured, looking back at his cup.

Wasn’t everything his fault somehow?

“Come closer,” White Wolf ordered.

Jaskier scooted closer on the log and White Wolf put an arm around him. The man was warm and firm, but his hand laid loosely on Jaskier’s hip. It wasn’t a restrictive hold; Jaskier could get away easily. Or well, he could probably partially stand before White Wolf grabbed him and pulled him back. Perhaps he felt secure in the idea that Jaskier wouldn’t even bother trying to escape him. If so, he was right; Jaskier didn’t really see much of a point in trying. He never got far.

“Will I sleep with you tonight, my lord?” Jaskier asked.

“No, you will sleep alone in the wagon,” White Wolf grunted.

“Completely alone?” Jaskier pressed, glancing around.

_In a camp full of men?_

“You will be guarded,” White Wolf assured him.

_Ah, yes, because I know guards to be so trustworthy, _ Jaskier thought bitterly. White Wolf shifted beside him and pulled something from his boot. He held it out to Jaskier. It was a small dagger in a leather sheath.

“Here, take this,” he instructed, “If anyone should try to hurt you, even me, protect yourself.”

Jaskier hesitantly reached for it, faltering partway. He wasn’t allowed weapons or alcohol or food unless father said he was, but father didn’t have a say any more... right? White Wolf took his hand and placed the dagger in it, closing his fingers over it.

“This is yours now,” he muttered, “Take care of it.”

Jaskier pulled it, clenched in his fist, to his chest. A weapon and a gift, two things he wasn’t allowed.

“I will, my lord, thank you,” he agreed, bowing his head.

White Wolf tipped his chin back up, lips twitching as his warm eyes looked into Jaskier’s. Lips twitching. This was White Wolf’s version of a smile.  _He’s pleased._ Jaskier didn’t have any idea what he could’ve done for that to be the case, but he was glad nevertheless.

~

The next morning went about the same as the night before. Jaskier woke to a horn, was dragged to get food, and then he began eating by the fire. It took him a moment to coax himself into eating, but he did manage to start doing so on his own. He devoured the porridge and the bread he’d been given very quickly, the hunger being pulled to the front of his mind. He wondered if he’d eat every meal now and if he’d catch up on his stunted growth if he did.

White Wolf sat beside him and put an arm around him wordlessly. Jaskier scooted closer to him to ensure they were pressed together. Hopefully that was pleasing to the man.

“How did you sleep?” White Wolf prompted, rubbing his hip.

“I’ve slept better and worse, my lord,” Jaskier muttered.

“You struggle with sleep?” White Wolf guessed.

“Sometimes,” Jaskier confirmed.

Sleeping alone actually helped with that. Without the fear of being woken up by someone molesting him in the night, he found it easier to fall asleep. However, staying asleep and not having nightmares were uninfluenced by this. He leaned against White Wolf, suddenly feeling rather tired.

“How long is the journey?” He mumbled.

“Several days,” White Wolf answered.

“What is it like, your home?” Jaskier prompted.

“Cold,” White Wolf grunted, “You will have to gain weight if you hope to survive.”

Jaskier supposed that explained why it appeared he was getting all meals.  _Do I hope to survive?_ He really wasn’t all that sure at this point. If he did, he needed to learn how to be like the clan and how to please White Wolf. He was exhausted already as he observed the clan bustling about, trying to catch clues as to how to behave. Someone approached White Wolf during this investigation of Jaskier’s. They had brilliant green eyes and long, dark hair. They put a fist over their heart.

“Chief, they’re on our tail,” they announced, “We spotted a scouting party of at least a dozen and we think there’s at least three dozen in the main party.”

Jaskier swallowed down bile as his insides bubbled with fear.  _I’m being pursued by the knights again._

“Keep an eye on them, but do not attack,” White Wolf ordered.

Jaskier barely registered the person putting their fist back over their heart and departing. He was even smaller, shrinking into his younger self. Legs burning, chest burning, lungs burning, throat burning, eyes burning.  _Running._ The sounds of heavy boots crashing over undergrowth echoed in his ears.  _Faster,_ he urged himself,  _don’t let them catch you again._ His ears strained for one particular knight’s voice, for his boots, his cold laugh. If he  did get caught, at least let it be by anyone but  _him._

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier jolted, flinching as he was yanked from his memory by the sound of his name in a gruff voice. White Wolf’s eyebrows were together, a tiny frown on his face.

“Are you alright?” He asked gently.

_Am I what?_

“Y-Yes, I...think I’m just tired, my lord,” Jaskier mumbled, wiping a sleeve through the sweat on his forehead.

“You’re upset,” White Wolf grumbled, “Tell me what has upset you.”

Jaskier hesitated, looking at his empty bowl. 

“Are you...going to kill the knights pursuing us?” He asked quietly.

“Only if they give us reason to,” White Wolf assured him.

Jaskier was not reassured. He would have preferred a very firm “yes”.

“I don’t know what your father told you of us,” White Wolf muttered, “But we are not mindless brutes. We do not hurt or kill for the sake of it.”

“Yes, I had noticed,” Jaskier murmured, “I wonder...Did you happen to fight a knight with only one eye?”

“I did not, no,” White Wolf denied, “Perhaps one of the others did.”

The head knight didn’t fight the invading warlord? _That seems rather suspicious._ Jaskier pushed it from his mind as he looked out over the camp, watching the clan moving about, talking and laughing. Which would be most likely to have fought Bron? Jaskier eyed the ones with noticeable bandages on their arms and rubbed his own arm where scars hid beneath his clothing. 

“Sila!” White Wolf called, startling Jaskier.

Sila, the one who had just been there, scurried back, putting their fist over their heart.

“Chief?” They prompted.

“Did you happen to notice a knight missing an eye among the pursuers?” White Wolf questioned.

“Yes, they lead the scouting party,” Sila answered.

“Thank you,” White Wolf grunted, dismissing them.

Jaskier shivered, hugging his arms over his chest as Sila tottered off again.  _If Bron is at the head of the pursuit, I am finished._

“You need proper winter clothes,” White Wolf murmured as he pulled Jaskier closer.

“Unless I just stay near you,” Jaskier pointed out, snuggling against his side, “You are very warm.”

And if he stayed stuck to White Wolf’s side, Bron couldn’t catch him again.

“I cannot be with you every moment,” White Wolf muttered, sounding annoyed.

“Oh...right,” Jaskier mumbled, shoulders sagging.

Maybe if he simply stayed in the wagon, Bron would find it difficult to capture him.

“Perhaps you could...ride with me some of the way though?” White Wolf offered.

Jaskier smiled gratefully up at him.

“I would like that, my lord, thank you,” he agreed.

White Wolf’s lips twitched again and he reached out to gently caress Jaskier’s cheek. Apparently he was pleased with Jaskier’s response. Jaskier wished he could hurry up and figure out what it was he was doing that was so pleasing to the warlord. He wanted to bottle it so he knew how to keep the man in a good mood. The moods of men tended to swing so violently, he needed to know how to avoid them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jaskier is a sad puppy in this fic. 😅
> 
> Side note: I am overwhelmed by the positive response, thank you all so much! I hope I don’t let you all down! ❤️   
> If you’d like to get chapters a day earlier, consider helping support me by going to @1stworldmutant on Twitter and following the link in my bio. 😊 or you can just send a follow request and get only sporadic posts about how I hate my life in return. 😂


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: attempted rape, minor character death

Jaskier was trapped on a horse with White Wolf. Admittedly, it didn’t feel _that_ restrictive, but with White Wolf’s arms around him to hold the reins, he was basically trapped. He was sitting side saddle, he presumed because it forced him to essentially lay against the man, his legs over one of White Wolf’s and body pressed sideways to White Wolf’s torso. But White Wolf’s arms were fairly loose around him. Jaskier could probably slip the man, possibly even getting off the horse, if he moved fast enough.

So he was not trapped, but he was trapped. Which sounded about right for his life.

He tried to focus on the good things. First of all, Bron couldn’t catch him again if he was being held by White Wolf. As long as he was with him, he was safe from anyone else. And he really needed to not be caught again or he would face severe punishment from his father for willingly leaving with the warlord. Not to mention Bron would have his fun with him on the way back.

The second good thing was that White Wolf was very pleased to have Jaskier so close to him. He kept reaching up to run his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and rub his hip. He even leaned down to kiss him when they’d started out, which Jaskier noticed he didn’t like to do in front of the others. He really seemed to actually be at least a little fond of Jaskier. Likely as someone might be fond of a pet, but Jaskier thought at least as a pet he’d be seen as a living creature.

Also the man’s cock was off and on hard where his leg pressed against Jaskier’s ass. Jaskier was less than thrilled to learn the size of it, but in his experience, you rarely got to choose the size of the cock that fucked you.

He glanced up at the man. At least he was very handsome. All manly and rugged. He had such beautiful eyes and his pink lips were pretty, even though they were usually pursed with annoyance. His attractiveness didn’t _really_ make a difference, but at least Jaskier would have something nice to look at.

One white eyebrow raised as the man looked down at him.

“What is it?” He grunted.

“I was just thinking you’re very handsome, my lord,” Jaskier admitted.

White Wolf blinked at him like he was trying to process what he’d said and was struggling to do so.

_“You_ think I’m handsome?” He mumbled.

“Yes, because you are,” Jaskier answered, “Haven’t you seen a mirror before?”

White Wolf looked away from him, frowning.

“Yes, of course I’ve seen a mirror,” he grumbled, “It’s not usually such a... beautiful person who says such a thing to me.”

“That’s very kind of you, my lord,” Jaskier murmured.

“It’s very true,” White Wolf countered, “Haven’t _you_ seen a mirror before?”

“Yes, I have,” Jaskier mumbled.

He did his best not to look in mirrors. His reflection haunted him; he couldn’t remember the last time he actually looked at it. He didn’t want to think about it. He quickly came up with something else to think about.

“Will you tell me more about your home, my lord?” He requested.

“It’s cold,” White Wolf repeated.

“Yes, you said that,” Jaskier muttered, “What else?”

“There are mountains,” White Wolf offered, “Tall and snowy.”

_So like mountains,_ Jaskier thought dryly.

“What about your castle?” He prompted.

“It is in the mountain,” White Wolf answered, “Much bigger than yours. You will have much room to live.”

Room to perhaps avoid him when he was angry.

“If it’s in the mountain, it must be very dark,” Jaskier reasoned.

“Some of it is touched by the sun, but much of it is dark,” White Wolf confirmed.

“Possibly the gloomiest place to live,” Yennefer spoke up from where she rode beside them, “Like a dank hole in the ground.”

White Wolf hummed in annoyance.

“I’m sure it’s not so bad,” Jaskier placated, “And I think it must be very secure.”

“Yes, it is more a fortress than a castle,” White Wolf agreed.

_A fortress._ Jaskier thought this could be good news. It meant safety from others, but it also meant the inability to flee from White Wolf should he become destructively angry. Though it was not as if Jaskier would flee if he was given the chance. What would be the point? He was always caught and it was always worse when he was.

The sound of a lute drew Jaskier’s attention and he straightened up to look over White Wolf’s shoulder. The person with the lute had black hair nearly as long as White Wolf’s that hung in their face as they frowned down at the lute, plucking the strings hesitantly. It appeared as though they knew some stringed instrument, but not the lute and were working out how it was different to the one they knew.

They seemed to notice someone was staring at them as they looked up and around. Their gray eyes landed on Jaskier who waved sheepishly. They grinned at him and urged their black horse to speed up so they could ride even with White Wolf.

“Little one has request?” They prompted in an accent unfamiliar to Jaskier.

“No, it’s...it just seems like you don’t know how to play a lute,” Jaskier murmured.

“You play?” The person guessed.

Jaskier nodded and the person held out the lute. Jaskier looked up at White Wolf who raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?” He grunted.

“Can I play, my lord?” Jaskier asked.

He thought it was safe to ask for this since father was so particular with it. Perhaps White Wolf was too.

“You may do as you wish, Jaskier,” White Wolf assured him.

That seemed _very_ unlikely. Jaskier took the offered lute, sitting up straighter to strum the strings. He smiled lightly at the gentle notes drifting from the strings.

“What should I play?” He prompted.

“Play your favorite,” White Wolf requested.

_**My** favorite?_ Jaskier hesitated before he began playing, singing softly about a hero who chases a villain across the lands only to find the villain was their father all along. There was no reward for guessing why it was his favorite. The person who gave him the lute and some of the nearby clan members clapped when he was finished and he smiled warmly at them.

He played a jauntier tune next, one with a chorus they could all sing along to. White Wolf was quiet and still the whole time, but his face was clear of frustration and occasionally when Jaskier glanced at him, he would glance back, lips twitching. It was a gloriously peaceful moment that let Jaskier forget himself. Music had always been good for that.

~

When they stopped to camp for the night, Jaskier was approached by several of the clan that requested songs for him to play. He obliged them for the ones he knew and someone began passing around more alcohol. The camp took on a cheerful air that almost felt like a celebration. Some of the clan members even began dancing and Jaskier entertained them as long as he could, singing until his voice was a rough rasp. Then White Wolf told him to rest it lest he lose it completely. So he passed the lute back to Pan, the one who gave it.

“Drink this,” White Wolf grunted.

He handed Jaskier a warm cup. Jaskier drank the tea inside with a thank you, leaning into the man’s side. He watched the dancing and recognized it as a line dance. Despite it being a structured dance, no one seemed to be taking it very seriously.

Some of the dancers stumbled, but no one really cared, laughing together at their shared clumsiness. They had no embarrassing court incidents to worry about, they were just having fun. Though Jaskier had seen a few people just enjoying themselves in court, the majority were scared shitless that they’d somehow embarrass themselves. No, this was closer to the one time he’d been in a tavern. What a wonderful night that had been. Certainly worth the scars.

After a little while, Sila approached White Wolf, putting their fist over their heart. _They don’t bow,_ Jaskier realized. _This is their version._ Perhaps that was what White Wolf kept trying to telll him with pulling his face back up when he bowed. _Fist over the heart, I have to remember._

“Chief, could I have a word?” Sila muttered.

“Of course, if you’ll excuse me, Jaskier,” White Wolf murmured as he retracted his arm and stood.

_If I’ll do what?_ Jaskier was grateful actually, he had to pee, but he didn’t want to get up while White Wolf was holding (but not really holding) him in place. He was full of too much alcohol and tea, he thought as he stumbled off into the trees. He wandered until the music was quite distant, not particularly wanting an audience.

He was so drunk and dizzy from all the alcohol, music, and cheer, that he forgot to be afraid. After taking care of his business, he started to head back when he heard a twig snap behind him and he froze up. The fear pushed through his haze, its icy tendrils snaking through his chest, destroying the warmth he had begun to feel. That was right, the knights were still chasing him. _Bron_ was still chasing him. He’d forgotten he couldn’t escape.

He ran. Took off like a frightened _rabbit,_ dashing through the trees. He unfortunately dashed the wrong way. Perhaps some part of him still didn’t see the clan as safe, so steered his body away from them as well as the sudden heavy boots chasing after him or perhaps he was just too drunk and frightened to think straight. He tried to correct course, swinging back toward the campsite when he realized his mistake, but he didn’t stand a chance against his pursuer.

He never did.

A solid, familiar body, crashed into him, tackling him to the ground. He wheezed as he was crushed. His much smaller, underdeveloped body already burned from the effort of running, it groaned as he was pinned to the ground.

“Gotcha!” Bron laughed in his ear.

Jaskier opened his mouth to scream, but Bron slapped a hand over it.

“Ah, ah, little rabbit,” he warned, “No singing this time.”

Jaskier flailed under him, clawing at the dirt as he desperately tried to get away. _No, please! Please, anyone but him! I’ll take father, I’ll take White Wolf, I’ll take anyone, everyone! Just not him again, please!_

“I missed this,” Bron cooed in his ear, unaffected by Jaskier’s squirming, “Oh how I love to chase you.”

Jaskier sobbed and screamed against his hand, struggling with everything he had. Everything he had was not very much. Bron laughed cruelly and shifted to press his hard cock against Jaskier’s ass. Though he hated it, that wasn’t Jaskier’s true fear with Bron. The sound of him unsheathing his dagger sent shivers of cold fear through Jaskier. He froze in place, not wanting to throw himself on the knife.

“You are very naughty, running away from your father to fuck the warlord,” Bron chided lightly as the tip of the dagger dragged down Jaskier’s back, “I don’t think I’ll give you a choice this time.”

The dagger trailed down Jaskier’s ass and stilled over his hole, easily found despite the fabric in the way. Bron was familiar with where it was after all. The tip of the dagger pressed more firmly into his trousers. Jaskier tried not to move, but his body trembled terribly as he sobbed.

“Besides, I just got a pretty new dagger,” Bron mused, “I can’t wait to use it on you.”

_New dagger._ Jaskier’s fingers instinctively found the hilt of the dagger White Wolf had given him where it hung at his waist. It was dark: Bron wouldn’t see it coming nor would he expect Jaskier to be armed. Jaskier had the advantage. But he hesitated. He wasn’t allowed weapons, he wasn’t allowed to fend off attackers, he wasn’t allowed to injure father’s head knight.

_If anyone should try to hurt you, even me, protect yourself._

Father didn’t have a say any more. Jaskier belonged to White Wolf now and White Wolf told him to protect himself. White Wolf would be displeased if Jaskier let someone else have him when he could fight back. Besides this, Jaskier didn’t _want_ to allow this to happen and he _really_ didn’t want to go back. He would face the unknown with someone who treated him as a pet rather than go back to being a doll. Jaskier unsheathed the dagger as Bron’s pressed harder against him, the tip beginning to pierce his clothing.

Jaskier had never stabbed anyone before, but he thought he got it right as the dagger sunk deep into Bron’s side, between his ribs. Jaskier pushed with the knife as Bron swore and scrambled sideways off him.

“GERALT!” Jaskier screamed the second his mouth was freed.

His voice cracked and broke and he knew he wouldn’t be able to scream like that again.

“Stupid whore!” Bron hissed.

His dagger slashed at Jaskier’s forearm, trying to get him to let go, but Jaskier just twisted and gripped the dagger with his other hand too before tearing it sideways along the man’s ribs. Bron shrieked in pain, weakly trying to scramble backwards while slashing wildly at Jaskier. Jaskier’s blood boiled hotly. _No. You don’t get to run._  


He sat on Bron’s hips, pinning him in place and yanked the knife out. He slammed it back in below the man’s sternum which choked off another scream. Jaskier leaned over him as he pulled the dagger out again.

“I thought you liked blades?” He whispered.

Then he stabbed the dagger into the side of Bron’s neck and ripped sideways, nearly decapitating the man who died with a sick gurgling noise. Jaskier stared at the dark form under him. He couldn’t see Bron’s face properly in the darkness, but for some reason he wanted to.

“Jaskier!” White Wolf shouted, “Where are you?!”

“Here,” Jaskier rasped.

That didn’t seem like anyone could hear him. He pursed his lips and whistled shrilly instead. Based on the sounds of running toward him, it worked. As the group running towards him made it to him, someone created fire from nowhere, lighting up the dark woods. Jaskier grunted, wincing at the sudden light. He looked down at Bron’s face. His one blue eye was looking right at Jaskier’s. Other than the complete stillness, he might be mistaken for living. Well, if there wasn’t a bloody gash where his neck should be.

Jaskier looked up at the small group staring down at him. It was Yennefer who had produced a flame that danced over her palm. They all stared with varying degrees of shock and horror.

“He was going to take me back,” he croaked.

“So you decapitated him??” Yennefer demanded incredulously.

Jaskier looked at White Wolf who was the only person not making an expression, face carefully passive.

“You said protect myself,” he mumbled.

“Yes, I did,” White Wolf muttered, approaching him slowly, “And you did a very good job.”

He crouched down beside him.

“Let us go back to camp now, okay?” He requested.

Jaskier yanked the dagger from Bron’s neck. Everyone around him tensed and he pulled the dagger to his chest, still gripping it tightly. White Wolf stood and offered him a hand up that he took, wobbling a bit. White Wolf put an arm around his waist and guided him past the others who stared at Jaskier as they passed.

Jaskier was almost sure he’d done what he was supposed to. So why was everyone staring? Back around the fire, the jovial air had died and the rest of the clan all stared at him as he passed as well, most looking concerned and alarmed. White Wolf led him past them too, guiding him to the wagon. He took Jaskier’s waist and lifted him onto the edge of it. 

“Stay,” he ordered.

He left Jaskier staring into nothingness a moment and returned with a pouch of healing supplies. This was when Jaskier realized he was in pain. His face and arms burned with the cuts made by Bron’s blade. There was one on his chest too. He hadn’t even felt them. White Wolf carefully took the dagger, having to pry it from Jaskier’s stiff, uncooperative fingers and pulled off Jaskier’s jacket, vest, and shirt, leaving his underclothes on. 

Then he carefully and efficiently cleaned Jaskier of the copious amount of blood sprayed over him and dressed his many wounds, not speaking or looking in Jaskier’s eyes. He did occasionally brush his fingers over some of Jaskier’s scars, but it was the only indication he was thinking anything at all. Jaskier wondered if he was in trouble.

After his wounds were bandaged, White Wolf set the pouch aside and his gaze finally met Jaskier’s.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” He prompted.

Jaskier clammed up, his jaw clenching tightly and his throat refusing to work. He wrapped his arms around himself, looking away and shivering. White Wolf reached around him and wrapped one of the cloths over him like a blanket.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he assured him, “Just tell me what you need.”

Jaskier sagged with relief and exhaustion hit him like a punch to the face.

“Sleep,” he whispered.

“I can imagine,” White Wolf murmured, “I will guard you for tonight. I won’t leave you alone, okay?”

“Okay,” Jaskier mumbled.

“Do you...is there anything else I can do?” White Wolf offered.

He touched Jaskier’s arm lightly like he was testing the waters.

“I could...hold you, if it helps,” he suggested gently.

Jaskier shook his head. He didn’t particularly feel like being touched any more than he already had been that night. White Wolf’s hand jerked away from him.

“Of course,” he muttered, “Try to get some sleep.”

Jaskier nodded and turned to crawl into the wagon, laying down in his little nest. He fell asleep at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there will be real comfort in this story, but for now, have violence.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier awoke to the sound of the horn again. His wounds immediately began to burn and his body ached. He didn’t want to get up. He wanted to hide forever. If he was hidden away, he couldn’t be in trouble. He couldn’t be hurt. He’d done a bit of hiding before. Sometimes it even worked.

“Jaskier?” White Wolf called softly, “Are you awake?”

Mostly it didn’t though.

“I am,” Jaskier rasped, pushing himself up.

He felt weak and tired as he crawled out of the wagon.

“How are you feeling?” White Wolf prompted, touching one of the bandages on his face.

“I’m alright, my lord,” Jaskier assured him, “Hungry.”

“Let me redress your wounds before you eat,” White Wolf instructed, “You’ve bled through them.”

Jaskier sat obediently still on the edge of the wagon as White Wolf replaced his bandages.

“Jaskier, did you agree to come with me because you were trying to get away from the man who attacked you last night?” He questioned bluntly as he worked.

“No, my lord,” Jaskier dismissed.

White Wolf’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly.  _He’s...relieved? _ Jaskier was going to have to learn these expressions quickly if he hoped to avoid doing the wrong thing.

“But he _had_ hurt you before,” White Wolf guessed.

Jaskier hesitated. His natural reaction was to clamp down on the words. He was sure admitting his pain could only cause more. Words carried weight. What the consequence of speaking on his past would be, he did not know for certain. All he knew was the anxiety of possible consequence squeezed his throat, allowing no words to escape it.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” White Wolf assured him, “Anyway, I will have to leave you to breakfast on your own.”

He sounded annoyed again. 

“Though I will not go far,” he continued, “So if you need me, I should still hear you call my name or whistle again if your throat is still too sore. But you should be perfectly safe. You’re surrounded by the clan and you will have this of course.”

He tapped the hilt of the dagger at Jaskier’s waist before continuing bandaging.

“Should you need anything, Lambert can provide it,” he added.

“Who is Lambert?” Jaskier wondered.

“The man who carried you from the castle,” White Wolf answered, “Did he not introduce himself?”

“Oh, er, no, I guess not,” Jaskier murmured, “I think it did not cross our minds to introduce ourselves.”

“He is not one for formalities or politeness,” White Wolf snorted, “But you can trust him.”

Jaskier didn’t think he could trust anyone. Not really. White Wolf finished up the bandaging and provided Jaskier a clean shirt. Then he hesitated. He gently took Jaskier’s hands in his.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, “I will do everything I can to protect you and ensure you are not hurt again.”

He kissed Jaskier’s hands in turn before he went off about his business. Jaskier watched him go, stunned by his declaration.  _Protect me? _ Had anyone ever declared such a thing? Had anyone ever  done so with or without such a promise? Jaskier looked down at his hands. Had anyone ever kissed his hand before? His heart beat suddenly picked up and his breathing became a struggle.  _He’s playing with me._

He shook his head, hopping down from the wagon and pushing the sudden surge in anxiety down to a manageable level again. It didn’t matter if White Wolf was luring him into a false sense of security. He wouldn’t be fooled by such a thing because he was always anticipating bad things. He couldn’t be surprised by bad things, because that was the only type of thing he knew.

The clan was unusually quiet that morning as he retrieved breakfast and sat by the fire. They kept giving him side-long glances and going quiet the closer he got to them. Were they upset about the night before? White Wolf had said he had done the right thing, so why was everyone still staring at him like he hadn’t? He managed to hear one recurring phrase he thought rather odd. He’d never heard of a “bloody buttercup” before. He wondered what it looked like as he poked at his porridge.

“Little one?” Pan’s voice greeted him.

Jaskier jumped a little and looked up as they crouched in front of him.

“Good morning, Pan,” he greeted, smiling weakly.

“The little one is well?” Pan prompted.

“I’m alright,” Jaskier assured them, “The wounds aren’t so bad.”

It was a lie. He thought he could’ve bled to death if they hadn’t been nearby to help him. Which was especially worrying since he hadn’t even felt them at the time.

“No, I mean here,” Pan corrected, tapping their chest, “And here.”

They tapped their temple next. Jaskier had the urge to laugh hysterically.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

Another more blatant lie, but one accompanying a more convincing smile. Though Pan didn’t look like they particularly bought it. But their eyes darted over his head and they quickly dismissed themself. Jaskier looked back at his porridge. Pan didn’t seem like he’d done something wrong. Maybe he had offended the others some other way?

“That tea looks boring, pup,” Lambert grunted, startling Jaskier as he sat beside him, “Here.”

He offered Jaskier a bottle.

“Um, n-no thank you, sir,” Jaskier mumbled.

“Suit yourself,” Lambert muttered, drinking from the bottle, “So you hear what they’re calling you?”

“What who is calling me?” Jaskier grunted, frowning.

Lambert gestured around the camp, as if to indicate the rest of the clan. Jaskier thought back to the unusual phrase. Of course, “Jaskier” meant “buttercup”. It had completely slipped his mind. Then “Bloody Buttercup” wasn’t a flower he didn’t know, it was a name...for  _him._

“Oh...yes, I have heard it,” he muttered, “It is...an unusual name.”

“Considering how much blood you were covered in and the state of the asshole who attacked you last night?” Lambert snorted, “Not that unusual.”

_We do not hurt or kill for the sake of it._

Was that it? They thought Jaskier had killed Bron for the sake of it? He supposed it made sense why that would bother them then, but...

“I was only defending myself,” Jaskier mumbled, shoulders hunching defensively.

“You nearly took the man’s head off,” Lambert pointed out, “Buttercup is right. You are definitely a deadly little flower.”

Jaskier supposed that probably did look extreme from the outside, but he only went for the throat because he wasn’t completely sure how else to kill the man, to eliminate the threat. Perhaps they were staring because they wanted to see his reaction to taking a life. Pan  had mentioned his heart and mind, maybe they were really asking how he felt about becoming a murderer?

He wondered if he  _did_ feel any different now that he was a killer. He thought back to Bron’s still face, blue eye staring unseeing into his. He felt relieved, but that didn’t seem like the right emotion you should have after taking someone’s life. Then again, it wasn’t exactly an innocent life he’d taken. No, if they were looking for remorse, he had none to give them.

“Jaskier?” White Wolf’s voice grunted.

Jaskier jumped a bit in surprise and looked up at him.

“Yes, my lord?” He greeted.

“I want your help with something,” White Wolf answered, “If you’re willing to be near some of your father’s knights after what happened.”

_If I’m what?_ Perhaps White Wolf was just being polite, but it was jarring to have someone mention his willingness as though he had a choice. 

“Uh, y-yes, I can help, my lord,” Jaskier agreed, putting his nearly full bowl down to stand.

“These knights, the new leader of them doesn’t make sense,” White Wolf grumbled as he put his hand on the small of Jaskier’s back to guide him, “He doesn’t listen either.”

He led Jaskier away from the fire, toward the outskirts of the camp. Less than a dozen of father’s knights were crowded around with a roughly equal number of clan members. Yennefer was noticeably at the front of the clan group and Leon was at the head of the knights.

Leon was second in command, so it made sense for him to take up Bron’s position. He was one of the few who never found reason to hurt, touch, or insult Jaskier, so that was nice. As he spotted Jaskier, he started to take a step toward him, but Yennefer blocked his path with a hand. Jaskier was still too far to hear what they said to each other, but neither looked particularly happy. No one did, really. Jaskier thought that wasn’t surprising as White Wolf led him to stand beside Yennefer.

“Prince Julian, are you okay?” Leon greeted him.

_Fuck no. What kind of stupid question is that? _ Jaskier smiled weakly.

“It’s Jaskier, Sir Leon,” he corrected him for the hundredth time, “I am fine.”

Leon’s eyes were roaming dubiously over Jaskier’s bandages. 

“Oh, don’t worry about the wounds,” Jaskier assured him, “White Wolf bandaged me up before I lost too much blood.”

“Geralt,” White Wolf corrected, sounding annoyed, _“You_ call me Geralt.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Jaskier answered, “As it pleases you, my lord. Anyway, what is going on?”

“He speaks words we don’t understand,” Geralt grumbled, “He wishes to take you back.”

“We were sent to find the prince and ensure his safe return,” Leon muttered, “Since he was kidnapped.”

“See?” Geralt grunted at Jaskier, “He says we have stolen you. I don’t understand. You accepted my proposal.”

“I did,” Jaskier agreed, “I have not been kidnapped.”

But he had a feeling his father knew that full well.

“You were taken from the castle, bound, by an invading warlord with impure intent,” Leon pointed out, “Without permission from your father.”

“Why should we need permission from your father?” Geralt wondered, “You are of age, are you not?”

“I am,” Jaskier confirmed.

“A prize cannot be taken without permission of the king,” Leon explained, “Since permission was not given, you cannot be allowed to take him.”

“Actually...” Jaskier spoke up timidly.

All eyes turned on him and he tried to swallow the squeeze in his throat. Was he going to be in trouble for speaking this?

“Th-The king was incapacitated,” he explained, looking at Geralt which, for some reason, calmed him a bit, “When the king is incapable of making a decision, the lot falls on the eldest able son. What the eldest son says in such a situation is as good as the king’s word.”

“Then we have the king’s permission?” Geralt guessed.

Jaskier nodded a bit nervously. Geralt’s lips twitched and Jaskier almost sighed out loud with relief as the man turned back to Leon.

“As Jaskier says, we have permission,” he pointed out, “So you hold no sway over our bonding.”

“Even if it is within your right to take him as a prize, it is not lawful for you to take him as a bride,” Leon argued, “Our laws clearly state no man may marry another.”

“I do not care of your laws,” Geralt scoffed, “We will be bonded in my land, not yours.”

“Then I must stop you to ensure the safety of Prince Julian,” Leon countered, “If you attempt to take a prince with impure intent, I am bound by duty, as part of the royal guard, to rescue him from you.”

“Well...” Jaskier spoke up hesitantly.

He was a bit more confident when all the eyes turned to him this time, but his throat was still dry and tight.

“Actually, I’m not really a prince any more,” he explained, again finding comfort in looking at Geralt, “Once the agreement was made, I became property by law. Much as a woman would be classed as property of her husband, in our land. Specifically now, I am property owned by you, which means it’s within your rights to do with me as you please, as long as it is also within the law.”

“Then it is lawful for me to bond to you,” Geralt concluded.

“Yes, as long as it is in your land, my lord,” Jaskier agreed, “We could not m-bond here, but as it’s within your rights to take your prize-“

“Why are you defending this?!” Leon demanded, interrupting and startling Jaskier.

“Because I made an agreement,” Jaskier answered, “Geralt asked me if I would willingly leave with him to be bonded to him. I said yes.”

“Under duress!” Leon hissed.

“It was not under duress,” Jaskier dismissed.

“How could it not have been??” Leon snapped, “He had just knocked out your father! Obviously you would be scared!”

“Jaskier wasn’t scared,” Geralt spoke up, gently touching Jaskier’s lower back.

Jaskier looked up at him in surprise. He was giving Jaskier a warm, almost fond look.

“He looked me right in the eye and didn’t even tremble,” he murmured, “He took time to decide too. He chose to come with me, to be my bonded.”

He turned back to Leon, eyes turning to fire as he glared at the man.

“You will not take his choice from him,” he growled.

_My choice._ That was right. _He_ had chosen to become Geralt’s. For the first time in his life, Jaskier had chosen something for himself. Something important too. 

“Then I bring up one of the clauses of the prize laws,” Leon announced, “If a prize bride is found to be already be sullied after the agreement made, then the agreement may be nulled.”

Jaskier’s guts twisted as he felt his choice being ripped away from him. He hadn’t even considered his lack of virginity as a problem. With all the unusual things about the situation, he hadn’t thought to worry over virginity. _Fuck._

“Sullied?” Geralt grunted, “What does this mean?”

“I-It means unclean, my lord,” Jaskier rasped, “It means I...I’m not a virgin.”

Now Geralt would want to null the agreement and Jaskier would have to go back. Despair and anxiety swelled inside him. His choice was being taken and he would be punished too, so severely.

“Why would I give a fuck about that?” Geralt wondered.

Jaskier looked over and up at him in surprise, heart stuttering in his chest.

“Y-You don’t care?” He prompted, “You won’t null the agreement over it?”

“Of course not,” Geralt snorted, “What possible bearing would such a thing have on our bonding?”

Jaskier could’ve cried with relief. 

“The king has ordered us to ensure the safety of his son,” Leon spoke up tightly, “We are to take him home where he belongs by any means.”

Jaskier’s wounds burned and his scars itched across his aching body. Even if his father wasn’t going to punish him severely, Jaskier didn’t  _want_ to go back. He wanted to have his choice, even if Geralt turned out to be worse than even Bron (which he found extremely unlikely), it was still  _his_ choice.

_You will not take his choice from him._

It was  _his_ choice and Geralt said he was to defend it. He straightened and stepped closer to Leon, staring hard into the man’s eyes. He prayed he wouldn’t get in too much trouble for this.

“Attempting to take back a condition of surrender is taking back the surrender,” he informed him coolly, “Which is declaring the war unfinished. Should we take this display to mean you are declaring war, Sir Leon?”

“I was ordered to retrieve you by any means,” Leon repeated, though his voice was weaker now.

“Then you will take responsibility for a war?” Jaskier prompted, “Do you think your king will be very pleased to hear it?”

“I...” Leon hesitated.

Jaskier leaned closer to him, to speak in his ear.

“We both know what my father does to those that displease him, Leon,” he whispered, “What do you imagine he will do to someone who declares a war over something as trivial as the little doll he occasionally likes to play with?”

He pulled back as he heard Leon swallow nervously.

“I suggest you go home,” he suggested lowly, “And tell your king there is no easy prey to be found here.”

Geralt and Yennefer took a step forward as well, tensing as though to draw weapons. Leon looked between the three of them before taking two steps back then turning away.

“Fall back,” he called to the other knights.

Jaskier watched them go until the road curved and they disappeared from sight. Then he wobbled. Geralt lurched toward him and caught him as he fell.

“Are you alright?” He prompted, pulling Jaskier close to him.

“Just need to eat, my lord,” Jaskier muttered.

“Of course,” Geralt murmured.

He scooped Jaskier up and carried him to the wagon. A fresh bowl of porridge was fetched for Jaskier and he quickly began eating it.

“Jaskier, that was...pretty amazing,” Geralt grunted as he sat beside him, “I think your words as good as a blade.”

“You’re not upset I threatened to wage war?” Jaskier mumbled.

He’d been certain he’d end up in trouble for it.

“No, we were likely to do so anyway,” Geralt admitted, “I think your words actually saved us from that fate. You are a hero, really. You nobly freed all of our ears from his wickedly useless prattle.”

Jaskier snorted in surprised laughter. Geralt glanced at him, smiling lightly. A real smile too. Jaskier’s chest warmed at the sight, which was an odd, unfamiliar feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier will stab you metaphorically and physically. 🔪
> 
> Side note: I can’t believe the insane response this has gotten. You guys are amazing!!! Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments!!! ❤️❤️❤️


End file.
